Setting Fire to the Rain
by Missi Marie
Summary: AU. This song wasn't for them, not the Capitol or the sponsors, or the monster that wanted to devour her body and soul. This was for him, just for him. M to be safe. Peeta/Katniss, Finnick/Katniss, Annie/Finnick


**Title: **Setting Fire to the Rain  
><strong>Author<strong>: Missi Marie  
><strong>Rating: <strong>tentative M to be safe  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Implied sensitive subject matter (I don't think anything is directly stated, but just saying)  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Katniss, Finnick, Peeta  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Katniss/Finnick, Katniss/Peeta, Finnick/Annie  
><strong>Summary: <strong>AU. This song wasn't for them, not the Capitol or the sponsors, or the monster that wanted to devour her body and soul. This was for him, just for him.  
><strong>Author Notes:<strong> Check out "Set Fire to the Rain" by Adele. Okay, so for those of you reading _Samson and Delilah_, this is an offshoot from that. 'Cause this little bunny started nibbling on my ear, and I just couldn't ignore it. This does NOT fit with _Samson and Delilah_, but I used a lot of that plot as the background for this one. XP

Also, this was half-inspired by _"Ghosts with Just Voices"_ by **monroeslittle**, an absolutely AMAZING FanFiction piece. A little dark, a little dramatic, and just oh so incredible. And way better than mine. So, check it out. It's awesome.

* * *

><p>"There's only one thing I want from you," he breathed in my ear, the smell of sweet smoke and hot liquor filling my nostrils. "Sing."<p>

My throat closed up, I couldn't breathe, the room swam in the ocean from Finnick's stories. He couldn't ask that of me. Not that. Not the thing that kept strength and peace and fire in my heart when everything else was designed to strip it away.

No. He couldn't be asking for _that_.

He circled me, body too close, pausing behind me. Leaning forward, chin over my shoulder, lips next to my ear, "It's such a small thing to ask, really, in lieu of what I... _could_ ask." His hands descended upon my bare shoulders and I didn't have to ask what he meant.

My flesh crawled. Images of days spent singing with my dad flooded my mind, only to change into the arena where Peeta fought still in this very breath, for his life. Finnick lying on a bed, sprawled mostly naked, eyes narrowed and prettied with make-up and very much anywhere but with his body on that bed. The girls standing outside Croy's door, each begging to be the one he lured into his bed that night. Of Prim, sleeping beside me, resisting the morning sunlight and the inevitable hardships the day would bring. My mother sitting unmoving, unmovable, in that chair, staring off into a dark world where my dad was dead. Gale, spouting obscenities about the Capitol, only to die by their hands and mine. A pair of bright blue eyes that sought me out in hallways only to turn, embarrassed, from me when I found them. Soft words wishing for nothing more but to be who he was...

"Of course, if you don't want to..." He made to back away, but it was a bluff and I knew it. Just like he knew that I would do what he asked of me. Because I owed everything to the boy with the bread.

I would sell my soul for Peeta Mellark.

I didn't answer him, this man who asked of me _everything_. Instead, I opened my mouth and let the soft sounds begin to pour out. Small, timid, raspy even... but they grew stronger as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy flashed before my mind. This song wasn't for them, not the Capitol or the sponsors, or the monster that wanted to devour me body and soul.

This was for him, just for him.

* * *

><p>He blocked it with the sword in his hand, awkwardly because he wasn't used to using a sword. The ax clanged, metal against metal, then slipped, its edge catching on Peeta's blade. Peeta shifted, the ax slipped off, Peeta shoved forward, the boy shoved back. They tumbled and rolled together. A sword sliced through flesh, an ax tore through shirt and skin. Blood coated them both. Cries of pain, grunts of effort, and then stillness.<p>

Peeta shoved the boy from Five off of him. He stared with wild blue eyes; the boy stared unseeing with brown ones.

* * *

><p>The entire room had stopped. No more mingling, no more giggling or backhanded deals, no promises of sex and lies, no debts incurred or paid, nothing. Just silence and pair after pair of colored eyes staring at me as I sang. As I sang for the one person who could never hear it.<p>

In a far off voice, I could hear Finnick whispering "No" and I could see Haymitch reach for the bottle and I could see Cinna look away. I could see Johanna shaking her head, anger at the surface, sadness at the core.

I continued. I knew what they were thinking. That they all understood what it was I was doing to myself here, now, as the words poured from my mouth in a melodic confession that could never be received by the one it was meant for.

It didn't matter if they knew the reason. No one had to. Just me.

I was up on the table now, dishes overturned, food rolling to the floor. No one cared about the ruining of the feast, not even those of us born to starve. My black snake-skin heels stood apart, the slit up my thigh revealing my leg, and I didn't care. This song was all that mattered. _He_ was all that mattered.

He would never hear his name in the words and no one would look for it beneath them.

They couldn't look away. None of them. I was an unstoppable train wreck, already on fire and determined to take everyone with me. No one would ever be able to say no to me now, and I would never escape the horrors it would cost me...

I sang on.

* * *

><p>His first kill was his easiest in the end. He could justify it, self-defense, and that he hadn't truly meant to kill him. That hadn't been his <em>intent<em>. The boy had surprised him, jumped him. He killed him only because that's what happened with his sword. That was how they had landed in the mud.

Peeta had never intended to kill anyone.

Which was why sliding the knife through the girl's throat was so much harder. Because he had planned it. Because some part of him had gone mad in this arena and now he was killing them. And it was murder. There was no justification for this. There was only death and he was causing it.

The baker's son wasn't getting out of this alive; the thing Peeta would become in the end might.

* * *

><p>I finished with my arms open to the crowd, my feet in those ridiculous heels on the pretty white tablecloth, my face flushed and to the ceiling, because I wasn't ready to face them yet. I wasn't ready to read the new hunger that bred in their eyes as I sang the last pieces of my heart into a crowd of monstrous jackles.<p>

I wasn't ready to let him go yet.

The clapping took forever. I didn't like it. It was too loud, rubbing my ears raw, when all I wanted to do was crawl into the darkness. When I looked down at the crowd, finally, I don't know what they saw in my face, but it must have been spectacular, because it started the clapping all over again.

It was Finnick's cold, clammy hand that I took to step down from the table. The look on his face was odd, torn between the constant mask of _flirtatious_ he hid behind and the indomitable terror he felt inside.

For me. For him. For what inevitably we would be together.

It wouldn't be pretty. I wasn't ready for it. He might have wanted to cry.

* * *

><p>Peeta held her down. She struggled beneath the surface of the water, but he didn't let up. She clawed at his arms, they remained firm. Finally, she released a large gasp of air into the water, forming as bubbles racing to the surface. She breathed in the water and choked on it.<p>

She drowned in his arms and he couldn't even find her _name_ in his memory.

* * *

><p>He cooed pretty words to me and stroked my hair, because I was crying. It was over, the sheets were dirty, the man was gone, and I wanted to be dead. And he understood, he knew. So he stroked my hair and cooed pretty words to me and I leaned against his bare chest and tried not to <em>think<em> about the way I had touched it earlier.

* * *

><p>Even Finnick got to go home sometimes. Even he had a life beyond the Capitol with people he loved, the ones he was losing everything to protect. Even he could curl up in Annie's arms at night when his world was being torn asunder.<p>

I didn't have that.

I had a _cage_. A room covered with golden bars that curved up into the vaulted ceiling, and a swing hanging in the center for me to perch on like the songbird I was. The walls were painted in vivid images of trees, the ceiling designed to be the sky. There were no windows, no real light. All of it was artificial, and even the fake beauty of it couldn't make me feel better.

My gilded cage, pretty and golden.

I would never see Twelve again. Not my little sister Prim, not my mother's sad, lost expressions. Not Hazelle and the kids, whom I had demanded they take care of.

Not Peeta.

It hurt to think of him sometimes. Because, as surely as we all knew exactly what Finnick was, he surely knew what I was now. No amount of glittering make-up could change what I had become. They could never conceal the filth that covered my skin. Nothing would ever make me worth wanting again. Not even to him.

Sometimes, I hated Finnick as though it was his fault. Because he knew the day I wore that stupid dress with the wrong shoes.

And then I cried and hated myself because nothing had ever been Finnick's fault.

* * *

><p>His kisses were always the softest, the sweetest. Not the fervent hot mess of lips against lips that the Capitol sent to me. Sometimes, I could even erase my thoughts long enough to enjoy them. But this led to worse things. This led to <em>guilt<em> and self-loathing and Finnick-loathing and was ultimately just not worth it. So I didn't let myself enjoy it often.

Just after the bad ones.

The ones that left my skin bruised and bloody. The ones that hurt. The ones that made me stay inside a couple of days, because no one wanted to see their precious Songbird with broken wings. After those, I let him kiss me sweetly and softly and coo sweet nothings in my ear, because I thought maybe he needed to do it as much as I need him to.

I never let his kisses move past my face, never down my neck, never down the line of my body as they did when we were together. When the others were watching. When it was just us, there was only hugging and kissing and sweet things that I had never gotten before the Capitol had claimed my life.

I wanted to know if Finnick had felt them before they were twisted by the Capitol. But I never asked. Because I couldn't waste those precious moments of peace on memories of awful, sad things.

I wondered how Finnick touched Annie and if Annie could understand why he touched me.

I wanted to tell her, he loved her best.

I wanted to tell Peeta, I loved him best.

But it was stupid to want things. I would never get them.

* * *

><p>It didn't hurt like it used to. Like the first time. Maybe I was stronger, maybe I was weaker. Maybe my body just couldn't make me feel pain anymore.<p>

I found myself missing the pain. It _dulled_ down the other things. Thoughts of the home I would never return to. Of the boy who lost himself in the arena as I gave up everything to get him out. Of the poison tipped arrow that took away my only friend. Of Prim's pretty face and the nightmares where she is here instead of me.

Yes, I missed the pain. It had turned out being the easiest part of all of this.

* * *

><p>Peeta only knew because he was a mentor now. He had taken the place of Katniss when she did not come back to Twelve. No one knew, no one was told, why Katniss didn't come back. But Haymitch knew something. Peeta didn't think it was possible, but he was drinking more.<p>

He wouldn't say why, even when Peeta stole his bottle and demanded an answer. Haymitch only mumbled about songs and deals and stupid, foolish kids with too much spunk for their own good.

A year of this. A year of not knowing, of wondering if she was dead. He spent long periods where he wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't get out of bed. He felt the loss of her and himself both, at the same time, and couldn't find reasons to get up, to do anything. His heart ached, and burned, and he thought it might cave in on itself, because she was gone and there was nothing left to cling to.

Katniss' mother saw him once and told him that she was alive and then she left and didn't talk to him again.

After that, he ate more, he moved more. He still didn't sleep. But it was enough to keep his heart from just... _stopping_. Maybe Mrs. Everdeen understood better than anyone what it meant to know that someone was still alive, even if you could never see them again. If only because she knew exactly what it was like to be unable to do anything now that that other person was gone.

A year later, Peeta saw for himself.

Saw Katniss sparkling like a blood-red jewel in the sunlight. She was still thin, too thin, and still young, and still small. Her hair was still long, dark brown, with waves that fell down her back in perfectly styled layers.

His breath stuck in his throat, followed shortly by his heart, and he thought he might die from too much at one time. Just seeing her was threatening to kill him, but he wanted more. He wanted to touch her, hold her, _kiss_ her.

And then he saw her eyes. Dead gray pools that spoke of horror. She was the "lucky girl from the poorest district in the nation, chosen for her amazing gift to stay at the Capitol," but Peeta saw her eyes and he suddenly knew what Haymitch had been talking about.

It nearly crushed Peeta.

He didn't want Katniss to be another Finnick Odair.

* * *

><p>He had been doing this much longer than I had. Enough time to get used to how things work, how things had to be to protect that which was the most precious to him. It was a difficult, harsh reality filled with horrors that presented themselves in Twelve only at Croy's doorstep. And mostly Finnick had accepted it, couldn't do anything but that. But there were days... Days like today, where all Finnick could do was cry, face nestled in my lap, turned away from the large flat screen TV that showed our tributes fighting each other.<p>

I stroked his hair and whispered sweet nothings and he cried harder.

I told him I would always be here for him. That I would do what I could to make his pain less. His heaving paused, stopped completely as he lifted his face up from the red dress—they always, always put me in red now—and stared into my face with puffy, bright, shiny eyes.

He pressed his lips to mine and I didn't push him away.

I had promised, I would do what I could to make his pain less. My eyes stayed open and I watched as Finnick's tribute died, killed by Peeta's tribute's hand.

* * *

><p>Peeta always took the female tributes. Because they were almost always Seam girls. Not all of them reminded him of Katniss, but sometimes, sometimes a pair of hopeless gray eyes would stare at him or strands of long, brown hair would slip off their shoulders, and he would be taken back to a rainy day in District 12 where a starving girl had given up.<p>

His third year, one finally won.

A tall, lanky thing, by no means a beautiful creature. She lacked the presence, the power of Katniss. Lacked the muted beauty. Lacked the strength, the passion, the fire. But then, so did Katniss these days.

Her name was Spencer and she was seventeen.

It had been a tradition now for the last three years for Katniss to serenade the new victor. A concert was put on for all of Panem to witness. One where she sang with a haunted voice that rang long after she had stopped using it. Peeta had anticipated it every year, despite the dread of knowing what had happened, what was undoubtedly eating her alive on the inside. He couldn't help the irrepressible desire to see her again.

And this year, she would congratulate him. Shake his hand, kiss his cheek, smile prettily and bat her eyes lashes at him, because that's what she did every year with the mentors who won. And this year, Peeta had won.

Maybe that was why he always tried so hard.

He saw her, felt an unreasonable amount of _hope_ well up inside his heart, and then watched it crush itself when she couldn't even meet his gaze.

But she shook his hand; hers were cold and clammy. And she reached up on her tiptoes and leaned in and she kissed his cheek. He could smell her, still Katniss beneath all the Capitol product. Her lips were so warm against his already hot cheek, the hand she had placed on his shoulder to balance herself searing through his shirt. When she pulled away, he wanted to pull her back and hold her tightly against his chest until she fell into his heart and he would never have to let her go again.

He didn't want to leave her.

Was it just that terrible hope from earlier, or did her eyes tell him she felt the same?

And then she was gone, standing next to Finnick her expression as bright as his and his eyes as dead as hers.

* * *

><p>"He's dead."<p>

I didn't want to believe the words as they left the blood red lips of Snow. Snow, the winter snake. The white rose with bloody petals. The monster hiding in daylight. The ringleader of this circus. My tormenter, my President.

"Finnick?" I whispered.

Snow smiled darkly and I could smell the foulness on his lips, the death hiding like lies in his mouth.

"Too bad," Snow whispered to me like the lover Finnick had been. "He was a favorite."

My knees buckled. Because, see, it was always easier to believe the bad things. Especially when the good things kept disappearing. And Finnick Odair had been my last good thing. The last bit of reason and sanity and almost-happiness that my heart could cling to.

And now he was dead.

It was always easier to believe the bad things.

* * *

><p>Peeta had wanted to get her out, not Finnick, but it hadn't really been an option. They could reach Finnick as he left for his home district of Four. But Katniss never left the Capitol. Katniss <em>lived<em> there now. In her large room, designed to be a bird cage with no windows to the outside visible.

They couldn't get to the Capitol's favorite little Songbird.

The rebellion had started with a spark that no one could explain but was inextricably linked to Katniss. Maybe it was her song, carried across the Districts every time a new Victor was crowned. Each one had seemed to carry a hidden meaning that spoke of love and loss and the fire to fight back. The Mockingjay pin that she wore in every public appearance was like a sharp jab at the Capitol. A joke that had all of Panem snickering at President Snow and his oppressive regime.

But no one could get to her, their Mockingjay. She was guarded like a treasure.

Peeta had taken the figurehead the rebels offered him the day District Twelve had been bombed. He had agreed to use his grace with words to reach the public, to convince them to fight. He did it because he knew it was the only way to save Katniss.

He had wanted to get her out, not Finnick.

* * *

><p>I tried to sing, but my voice was broken. The notes that passed my lips were off, lost in each other as they stumbled to get out of my throat. Now that Finnick was gone and Peeta was with the rebels who threatened to bring down the Capitol—<p>

—I dare not hope—

—there was just nothing left. Nothing to give my beautiful, powerful voice wings enough to fly. I couldn't keep my heart from breaking, couldn't stop the look of hopeless pain on my face. They wanted me to hide it as I had before, but it had been Finnick to keep me from showing my weakness.

For him, I had worn the face of that frivolous Capitol doll, because he had done it for years and it was to his disgrace for me to not do it, too.

But he was dead now, what did it matter?

It didn't, I decided. Nothing mattered anymore. Twelve was gone—no more Prim, no more Hazelle and the kids, no one left—Finnick was gone, Peeta was...

Peeta was alive. And he would never forgive me.

The note seemed to collapse in on itself and I couldn't force another one out. I fell to my knees on the stage and just cried. The announcer said that I was devastated by the death of Finnick Odair and that I needed time to mourn. They dragged her off the stage.

* * *

><p>Peeta pushed for another mission. One to the Capitol. Coin didn't like it, but Peeta wasn't making it optional. They had to get her out; this couldn't wait. Coin couldn't convince him that it could. They would have to take the Capitol eventually, she told him. Why not just <em>wait<em>.

But he couldn't. He had watched that concert, seen her struggle, and finally fall to her knees crying uncontrollably.

Finnick had been hysterical. Grief-stricken, horrified, convinced it was all his fault.

Peeta didn't care anymore whose fault it was—he would always know where to lay the blame—he just needed to get Katniss out.

They couldn't wait.

* * *

><p>The bed beneath me was thin like a cot and the sheets were scratchy against my skin. The light seemed bright against my closed lids and I was reluctant to expose my eyes to it. The darkness was more welcome. Unconsciousness had been a reprieve, so I must have been drugged. Drugged sleep was the only kind that came without the nightmares.<p>

A buzzing sound told me that the lighting was florescent. There were no other sounds beyond it, until,

"Katniss."

I recognized Finnick's voice immediately and decided maybe I hadn't been drugged. Maybe this was the dream. I had always dreamed of those dead and gone.

"Katniss, wake up."

I resisted his coaxing. Ignored the gently stroking of his hand on mine, so real I had almost convinced myself that it wasn't a dream. But it had to be; Finnick was dead.

"C'mon now, little bird," he cooed softly. "Open your eyes."

And I couldn't resist his command. My lids fluttered and then squeezed shut against the abrupt brightness. I squinted against it, slowly allowing for things to come into focus. The ceiling was bare and white, the lights stretching out in long panels.

My vision cleared and there he was, sitting beside me, still sad, still beautiful, but with a strange smile on his face. One that lied and said he hadn't seen what I had.

I whimpered.

"Hush, little bird," he told me in that same soft voice. "You're safe now."

It was a lie, it had to be. I hadn't been safe since the day my father died. Danger was the only constant my life had ever seen.

"Finnick?"

My voice was hoarse to my own ears. I couldn't believe I was staring at him now. He was dead. They had told me he was dead.

"I'm here," he confirmed. "We're here and everything is going to be alright."

I wanted so badly to believe him.

But it couldn't be true. Never true, never.

* * *

><p>Finnick closed the door to the hospital wing behind him gently, entering the hall where Peeta paced frantically. The boy was a wreck. There were heavy dark circles under his eyes, his lips pulled down into a frown that had been in place for far too long. His hands kept raking through his blonde curls subconsciously.<p>

At the sound of Finnick clearing his throat, Peeta abruptly stopped pacing and turned to face the man.

"How is she?" he blurted immediately, going to stand right in front of Finnick, looking as though he might shake him apart for answers. "Is she okay? Can I see her?"

Finnick shook his head to the last question. "She's awake, but still a little disoriented, still confused. She's... not ready to see anyone."

Peeta looked ready to argue, but Finnick just shook his head again.

"They've had her for four years."

Peeta tried to swallow down the bile building in his throat. He knew how long they had had her. Knew what they had been doing to her. That was why he needed to _see_ her. Now. Right then. He had to be there to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be alright, that she was going to be alright. Because he needed her.

"Give her time, Peeta." Finnick placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "She's going to take some convincing."

* * *

><p>"There's someone that I want you to meet," he told me, as I managed to swallow the thick mush that they provided me. I paused. "Not today, of course," he eased my frayed nerves and I continued eating. "But soon."<p>

There was happiness in his voice and it sounded so foreign, so real.

"They got her out." It didn't seem to matter to him that I wasn't answering him back. "She's here, with me. My Annie."

I stopped eating altogether and looked up at him. The smile on his face was so true, I felt it threaten to choke me with it's wholeness.

"Annie?" His Annie. She was here. She was real. I had all but convinced myself that she was some make-believe girl that he had invented to keep himself sane. I had started wondering the same about Peeta.

Peeta.

Finnick nodded eagerly. "You're going to love her, Katniss. You're just going to love her."

This worried me. I didn't know if I could survive loving anyone else.

"And..." Finnick faltered, unsure if he wanted to continue. "And there's someone else who would like to see you..."

I just blinked my eyes at him.

"Peeta—"

I let out a strangled cry and reached out to clutch at his hand tightly. "No!" Not Peeta. Not _him_. I couldn't see _him_. Not ever again. "Please, no."

Finnick's face crumpled into sadness, and he moved to sit beside me on the bed, wrapping his free arm around my shoulders and shushing me like a child.

"Shh, Katniss, it's okay. He wants to see you."

"Please, Fin, not him..."

I shook my head desperately. I could never see the look in his eyes, the disgust that must live there. Not after everything. Not now. That sweet, adoring expression he had once worn when he looked at me couldn't be replaced with loathing. It was the only thing that kept me going anymore.

I couldn't lose it.

Finnick's expression told me he understood, but I could tell, he still wanted Peeta to see me. I couldn't stop the tears when they came. Finnick just held me and stroked my hair and cooed sweet nothings.

* * *

><p>"I should be the one to tell you," Finnick said firmly, determination in his expression. "I was her first."<p>

Peeta couldn't stop himself before his fist impacted Finnick's pretty face. Couldn't help the free-flowing anger that seared through him like a sword through flesh. He wanted to _hurt_ Finnick, badly.

Finnick stumbled backwards with the force of the blow, but didn't look angry. It wasn't that he had been expecting the hit, just maybe that he thought he deserved it.

"I'll never forgive myself," he whispered. "For taking something so precious..."

Peeta would never forgive him either. Not him, not the Capitol, not the Games or Snow or anyone. No one deserved forgiveness for what had been done to Katniss Everdeen. Face still harsh with anger, Peeta offered Finnick his hand and helped the man up. They stood in the hallway for long moments just staring at each other.

* * *

><p>She was sitting at my bedside in a chair pulled up from the far wall when I awoke. Her hair was dark and flowing, her eyes a deep sea green. She was pretty in that sweet kind of way, though messy in her dress. The young woman had the largest smile I had ever seen. She seemed so excited that she might have been glowing with eagerness. There was something odd lingering in her eyes, just a hint of madness that was terrible in its gentleness.<p>

Finnick stood behind her chair and watched her with so much love and affection that it made my heart hurt.

"Katniss," he said, not looking away from the eager woman. "This is Annie."

My mouth opened a little as I stared at her, overwhelmed. She had become beautiful in an instant in the light of Finnick's love and I felt the consuming urge to hold her tightly and protect her from all harm. Finnick was right, damn him; I just loved her.

"She's so beautiful," I whispered, staring at her. "So beautiful."

Annie let out a shy giggle and clutched Finnick's hand, looking up at him quickly. In the next instant, she had released him and lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around me and spilling some of her innocence and warmth into me.

Tears pricked at my eyes, I saw Finnick hesitate, as though contemplating whether he should let Annie be or pull her away from me. Whether or not I would break from the contact. So to put him at ease and to keep Annie that innocent girl who had been sitting at my bedside, I wrapped my arms around her to return the hug.

She hummed appreciatively and whispered in my ear.

"You're just like Finnick."

And once again I couldn't stop the tears.

* * *

><p>I didn't think I would ever be ready. To face him. But Finnick convinced me. Told me that I couldn't spend my life hiding from him, avoiding him, when he was the one constant thing always on my mind. Even the drugs couldn't steal him from me.<p>

And if I could, what right did I have to deny him one last glimpse of me?

I shuddered involuntarily at that. One last glimpse. One more chance to wear a look of complete disgust as he realized the Capitol pastry I had become. It would tear me apart, but I nodded my head. Peeta had a right to see me for what I was, to be able to walk away.

Maybe it would be enough to finally kill me.

I waited in the hospital bed. I had been permitted to leave it, though I couldn't go far, couldn't go alone, and couldn't go for long. Finnick always took me on these short walks. Sometimes with Annie, sometimes it was just us.

I stared at the sheets, focusing on the tiny crisscross pattern of the threads that made them. It would be easier if I didn't look at him.

I heard the door open and then close again. Heavy footsteps that couldn't hide noise even if they wanted to. My heart bleated pathetically against my ribcage, threatening escape.

He was here.

I saw his shoes when he reached my bedside. He sat down; I still didn't look up.

"Katniss?"

His voice was like syrup or honey, too sweet to have alone.

"How are... How are you feeling?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn't respond. This would hurt too much; there wouldn't be anything left of me when he was gone.

"Katniss, please." I saw his hand move to take one of mine that was resting on the bed. I didn't mean for it to flinch from him.

I heard the strangled pain in his voice when he spoke next. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Just, please, look at me?"

_No_, I wanted to tell him. _No, I can't_.

His fingers stretched out the tiniest bit and brushed against mine. I didn't flinch this time; he felt so warm.

"Please."

I didn't see his other hand move, didn't notice it until his forefinger was placed beneath my chin and applying a gentle pressure. He moved my face upward to his, but I shut my eyes tightly. I couldn't look at him.

"Look at me, Katniss."

No.

"Open your eyes and look at me, Katniss."

I couldn't do it; I couldn't resist. So my eyes fluttered open and I saw him. My boy with the bread. My tribute. My Peeta. He looked tired and restless and uneasy, like a caged tiger needing to be free. But his hair was still blonde, his eyes were still blue, and he was still him. Still looked sweet and warm and caring.

He hadn't figured it out yet, what I was.

The tears made tracks down my face as I realized I would have to explain, would have to tell him what I had done.

"I'm so sorry," I bawled. "So, so sorry. I didn't mean to, I didn't want to. What happened— I didn't, I never meant for it..." I shook my head, now unable to tear my gaze from him. "I'm just so _sorry_."

His brow creased and he was shaking his head, too. "No, Katniss, it's okay."

He didn't understand.

"No it's not!" I yelled at him. "It's my fault, it's all my fault! Everything I did was wrong! And it hurt and it didn't hurt enough, because I deserved everything that happened to me! Because it was _my fault!_"

He took my face between both of his large hands—they were hot and calloused and sent a delightful tingle through my body that made me feel sick to my stomach, because I shouldn't have liked it—and moved so that we were so close our noses almost touched.

"You. Did. Nothing. Wrong."

How could he not understand?

I couldn't shake my head, because his hands held me steady.

"Those things," his face twisted momentarily in pain. "The Capitol did them _to you_. They weren't your fault, Katniss. _Nothing was your fault._"

And I couldn't think of how to make him understand the dirty thing that I was now, so I just cried and let him sit next to me and hold me like Finnick had done. He kissed my forehead and rocked me gently. I didn't want him to let go. Shaking, I clutched at his arms.

"Don't leave me."

"Never," he whispered into my hair. And because I was broken and tired and couldn't think of how to make him understand, I let myself believe the beautiful lie.

Because I loved him and it hurt too much when I tried not to.

"I'll always be here with you, Katniss," he told me firmly, holding me tighter. "Always."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay. So. This hasn't been beta'd. This was **literally **just written. A lot of background stuff came from my Samson and Delilah story, so you can check that out if you're confused about some things. Or you can ask me and I'd be happy to tell you. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy and, if you like bunnies, and you like plot, and you like PLOT BUNNIES, please feed them with reviews. 'Cause they're like carrots to the bunnies._


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